The little tree dreams in the drizzle of the night

Slowly growing higher, and deeper too

The ground is full of roots twirled around like hair

Here’s one with a head full of worms dangling like ornaments

But there are no eyes.

The Ants crawl silently carrying the injured to the nest

The moon that hung over my father’s grave can’t fly away like a bird.

My eyes are leaking again.

Now I dream, I see children climbing the tree and look they are picking apples in the middle of winter

All this year erratic winds have blown
Cold in winter,humid in the spring
Whirling human minds like little stones

Ethics,truth,humility disowned
In their place what will the demons bring?
In this era, winds erratic blow

All the owls and other birds have flown
They sense the truth, there is no lingering
As whirl our human minds like pebblestone

In the blackbirds garden, they say :go
As they flutter on their open wings
Even in that place, winds strange do blow

Under masks of sweetness, poison shows
Bombs are nuclear, once mere arrows stung
As whirl our ancient minds, as mothers moan

On the cross, the Christ in grief still hangs
Underneath, the proud snake shows its fangs
All this year the monstrous winds have blown
Stirring up our patterns,seeking form